


Knowledge, served cold

by syredronning



Series: bridge2sickbay [16]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dark, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: If Jim had died over Vulcan, Winona would never have forgiven him.Actually, she doesn't think she ever forgave him, now that she thinks of it, thinks of the things she knows and had pushed into the back of her brain, hid away like her old poetry album.
Relationships: George Kirk/Christopher Pike, George Kirk/Winona Kirk
Series: bridge2sickbay [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542673
Kudos: 16





	Knowledge, served cold

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge drabble written for bridge2sickbay in 2009, rescued from Livejournal. All errors are mine.

They hadn't met in twenty-five years. They hadn't talked in twenty. They hadn't exchanged some pointless Christmas cards in fifteen.

Jim joined Starfleet – because of Pike. Fucking damn Pike.

If Jim had died over Vulcan, Winona would never have forgiven him.

Actually, she doesn't think she ever forgave him, now that she thinks of it, thinks of the things she knows and had pushed into the back of her brain, hid away like her old poetry album.

She's still resolved to keep the past in the past when she sees pictures of him in that wheelchair. He paid, fine.

She isn't resolved anymore when they meet on a reception a year later, and he may carry a crutch but he's walking well enough, at least until they crash at the bar together.

"I did it," she says after the fourth whiskey, although she's not nearly drunk enough to use it as excuse. She nods as she sees his confused gaze. "Remember the New Year evening before the Kelvin launched? The evening when George was not with me but in San Francisco, with one of his usual good excuses? I was sitting at home with Sam and my parents and I swore to myself, I'd end this farce one way or the other."

His gaze changes, turns to ice. Anger still looks good on him, Winona admits - the interesting way he's able to internalize emotions, until they only show in his voice and those sharp, grey-blue eyes.

"I resolved to tell George that I knew about you. That I've always known, from the first day, because George, God help me, was a lousy liar. He was so lousy, he could've just written the dates when you met in our family calendar. I have no fucking clue why such an intelligent asshole like you could think he'd be able to hide the affair from me."

His face is a façade by now, even his gaze guarded, unwavering.

"And, did you tell him?"

"I did, and I told him that it's either you or me. And damn if he didn't know you'd never even have wanted him in your life, given how busy you've been with your career." She leans a little forward, her lips almost meeting his. "Guess what he chose."

"He chose you, so what?" he answers coolly, kicking back another glass of whiskey.

"He didn't choose me – he chose you! He was stupid enough to think you'd change your mind, once he'd be available."

He's looking suddenly so pale, so vulnerable. She got under his skin and she'll cradle this moment of victory forever in her memories. "But he never -" he said slowly.

"He didn't choose me, but he chose the child I was carrying. He chose what you would've never been able to deliver. And he died for it. The tragedy to end all tragedies." She slips down from the chair.

"I don't want to see you ever again, and I promise – if Jim dies out in space because of you, I'll come and haunt you till the end of your days."

"You've always been a little melodramatic," he says, the eyes back to blue, lips lightly pursed. The victorious feeling dies. She should've known that nothing really would be able to penetrate the armor this man has around his emotions.

"I was never melodramatic," she replies. "Good night, Chris."

It's when she's almost out of the bar and turns back for a glance, not knowing what she's hoping for, when she sees his lowered head and the way he's curling on the bar stool and decides that maybe, after all, this man has a heart too that could break.


End file.
